


Like A Kitten On Truth Serum

by nanuk_dain



Series: The Tales of Ray the Highly Affectionate Ninja Kitty and Tim the Freaking Adorable Puppy [1]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Banter, First Time, Fluff, Humor, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, POV Tim, Ray being Ray, Ray's dirty mouth, Tim is a gentleman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26927086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanuk_dain/pseuds/nanuk_dain
Summary: Tim knows there are many vastly different types of drunks: There are happy drunks, sad drunks, aggressive drunks, emotional drunks, sleepy drunks, handsy drunks, idiot drunks, philosophical drunks... And then there's Ray Person.The most apt description Tim can come up with for his very specific type of drunk is that Ray's like a highly affectionate kitten on an extremely potent truth serum that remains dangerously eloquent despite its level of intoxication. It's vaguely scary.
Relationships: Brad Colbert & Ray Person, Timothy Bryan/Ray Person
Series: The Tales of Ray the Highly Affectionate Ninja Kitty and Tim the Freaking Adorable Puppy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988506
Comments: 7
Kudos: 29





	Like A Kitten On Truth Serum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [military_bluebells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/military_bluebells/gifts).



> I really didn't plan on writing this, it was a completely unexpected thing that just blew up... I never meant for it to become this long either, it kind of ran away with me. I hope you don't mind? ;D 
> 
> I blame all of this on **military_bluebells** and our very interesting conversations - thanks for the inspiration, hon! This fic is basically yours ^_^

It happens at Ray's paddle party, of all things. Well, _after_ Ray's paddle party would be the more accurate description.

It's August, just a few months after they've come back from Iraq, and Ray is among the first of the guys of Bravo Two to leave the service. His paddle party takes place at Brad's house and it's the first time Tim sees most of the men drunk. He only joined Bravo Two shortly before the deployment, so he never really got the opportunity to spend time with them off duty and - more importantly - off base and with access to unlimited supplies of alcohol.

The party starts harmless enough, as those things usually do. They place Ray in the middle of a circle in the garden and Christeson holds the paddle first to start with their recounting of memories that include Ray in more or less glamorous starring roles. Brad carved the paddle and took the lead on the decoration, with Rudy joining him in some details, and Tim has to admit that it's an exquisite piece of work. Tim contributes to the round of stories with a retelling of one of Ray's less heroic but in hindsight extremely funny moments. He came to Tim for help with his allergy issues at the same time that Encino Man got his feet treated, and before Tim could even have a look at Ray, he got a massive sneeze attack right in Encino Man's face who couldn't leave or get out of the way because his feet were covered in ointment and gauze and Ray was too gone to even notice who he was sneezing at. Not that he would have been able to see much considering that his eyes were watering so much that tears were running down his face and his body was jolted so badly that he even had to hold onto the Captain's shoulder with one hand while Tim supported his other side to keep him from falling to the ground. When Ray's attack finally calmed down and he was able to stand on his own again, even Encino Man couldn't accuse Ray of having committed insubordination or insult when looking at his puffy face, his red, swollen eyes and his tear-streaked cheeks, and the Captain had to grudgingly accept Ray's less than genuine apology.

They all drink throughout the entire evening and the stories get more boisterous and dirty the later the evening gets. Tim would blame it on the alcohol, but fact is that Ray got up to the craziest shit _and_ there are _a lot_ of stories about him, that's for sure. One of them is about his spectacular talent to hold his liquor considering his small size compared to most of the other guys, and in the course of the evening Tim realises that it sure is true - Ray can really hold his liquor. 

Brad is only drinking in moderation, similar to Tim himself, and Tim notices that Mike is holding back, too. It seems that some of the responsibility they feel for their men never quite vanishes, even off-duty and way after hours in the middle of a exuberant party. Tim can admit that while he likes to get buzzed sometimes - like tonight - he never drinks to the point where he loses control of his mind or body for the simple reason that he always feels like he has to be able to react to a medical emergency. This sense of duty is by now so deeply ingrained in his very nature that he never on purpose allows himself to get intoxicated beyond a certain point. 

It proves a good thing tonight. Unfortunately it's the man of the hour who gets injured, and it's not even his own fault in any way. In fact it's Manimal's fault, if you want to call it that, because in his inebriated state he misjudges the range of his rather long arms when he's demonstrating a move because he was describing it so very inefficiently. He manages to hit Ray, who's just coming over to the circle of camping chairs with a new beer in hand, in the temple with his fist and Ray stumbles under the unexpected impact. That alone wouldn't have caused any relevant injury, but it coincides with an unfortunately placed empty bottle that Ray steps on and that of course skids away under his foot, and his ankle bends at a rather uncomfortable angle when he goes down. In the end it's just mildly twisted, but enough to warrant a supporting bandage to keep it immobilised. Tim is still perfectly capable of wrapping Ray's ankle, his hands steady and his knowledge fully accessible, and he is reminded why he never gets smashed. Maybe he would if he was in the company of an entire platoon of corpsmen and he knew at least two of them remained sober, but certainly not with his accident-prone Recon Marine idiots around.

The rest of the evening whenever Ray wants to get somewhere he's escorted by one of his Marine brothers who're offering him some support while he hobbles one-legged around the place. Every time it happens Manimal gets a new round of teasing for being such a klutz and sending Ray off into civilian freedom with a sprained ankle. Tim keeps an eye on him enough to notice that his ankle is slightly swollen by midnight, but Ray doesn't seem to be in any noticeable pain. Well, that's not really surprising given the amount of alcohol he ingested. It's also a good thing, because Tim would never ever let him take any painkillers for that very same reason.

It's pretty late - or very early, depending on how you look at it - when the party dies down and the men get more quiet. Quite a few of them have already fallen asleep or passed out somewhere on Brad's property, others are sitting in little groups and chat in low voices. There are exactly three people still in possession of almost all of their faculties, and that's Brad, Mike and Tim. They're busy distributing the blankets that Mike as a matter of prudence made the guys bring along to the paddle party. He had the men put them in a neat stack in the hallway, ready to use, because Brad doesn't own enough blankets for everybody, nor is it his duty to supply them given that he already offered his house for the celebration.

"What about him?" Mike asks and pointedly looks at Ray's bandaged foot when they've run out of blankets and have returned to the house to get more, all three of them standing next to the French doors to the living room. Ray is sitting with Walt and Garza on the wooden bench at the end of the porch and is telling them something that has both of them laughing. Of course he's still talking as one of the few guys who haven't succumbed to their immense consumption of alcohol yet. Tim has to hand it to him, he _really_ can hold his liquor considering how much fun the guys had trying to fill him up tonight. They clearly didn't succeed.

Brad just shrugs. "He can sleep here with the rest of the guys."

"He shouldn't sleep on the ground with that ankle." Tim remarks matter of fact. "It'll make things worse for several days to come, it's not worth it."

"Well, I think it's safe to say that the couch is already taken." Mike chuckles and glances at the pile of Rudy, Pappy, Manimal and Chaffin who are sitting next to each other on the couch with their heads tilted backwards in unison, all of them either already asleep or getting there. It looks very funny, as if they posed like this for a photo to demonstrate their Recon Marine sync, but all Tim can think about is that they're going to have a terrible crack in the neck in the morning on top of the hangover they're bound to suffer from. It'll be a shitty morning for them. 

"I only have one couch." Brad gives Tim a pointed look. "And my bed is off limits."

"Where does Ray live?" Mike asks after a moment of collective silence.

"He has an apartment close by." Brad supplies without elaborating on how they're supposed to get him there. Tim looks first at Brad and then at Mike, and he can tell that they're also well aware that not a single one of them can drive anymore without risking a DUI. Tim would never even consider driving as soon as he's had any alcohol anyway, he's seen too many times what can happen to people who do - and to those poor innocents who're just unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He doesn't want to fall in either category.

"It's maybe ten minutes to walk." Brad adds after a moment of silence, then he glances over to where Ray is cackling like a maniac before he adds drily, "Well, twenty when carrying a full pack."

Tim snorts and looks at Ray now plastering himself to Walt's side with a huge dirty grin, telling him god knows what. "This pack sure as hell is full."

"Clearly." Brad agrees deadpan.

Tim sighs and resigns to the task. "He only weighed 134 pounds pre-deployment, which means it's most definitely less now, so I can carry him there."

Brad looks at Tim with a quizzically cocked eyebrow. "Do you know the precise weight of every man in this platoon?"

"Pre-deployment only." Tim confirms with a nod. "It's an important factor to consider in many scenarios, among them if I'm able to carry them and for how long I could do it if necessary."

Brad whistles appreciatively but doesn't say anything, and Tim eyes Brad with a calculating look. "Of course you're taller than me, so feel free to do the job and carry him home."

"No, thanks. I'm good." Is Brad's dry reply.

"How did I know you'd say that?" Tim scoffs and both Mike and Brad chuckle, obviously not sorry at all.

"Well, you're the medical professional here, you can take better care of his ankle than Mike or I can." Brad offers with a smirk as if that argument makes it any better that he's evading his duty.

"Okay, okay, I'll get him home. You two take care of them." Tim says with a jerk of his chin at the men in various states of inebriation camped on Brad's porch, in his garden and his living room.

"Sounds like a plan." Brad agrees and casts a fondly exasperated look at his Marines. Tim is sure he'd never let that sentiment shine through if even just one of the men was in any condition to notice. 

Tim eyes Ray for a moment and then looks back at Brad. "Does he have a decent couch to crash on? I will _not_ walk back to base tonight, but I also don't want to wake up crippled for days because I slept on a torture device."

Brad snorts, then he inclines his head in something that might be confirmation as well as reassurance. "Ray's couch is pretty comfortable, Doc. Better than any ranger grave."

"Good enough for me." Tim nods in acknowledgement, then he straightens. "All right, lets get to it." 

"You need any help getting him up?" Mike asks with a look at how Ray is slumped against Walt in a mostly boneless way. He's not wasted to the point of incapacitation, but he's also clearly not in complete control of his body anymore.

"Nah, we're good, Gunny. Between the two of us we'll manage." Brad replies with a shake of his head. "You go take care of the other boozers, I'll join you as soon as I've sent Doc and Ray off."

"All right. See you around, Tim." Mike nods and turns around to get more blankets from the house while Tim and Brad make their way over to where Ray is camped out on the bench. When they've left the open French doors behind them but are still a good distance away from Ray and companions, Brad stops and clears his throat. "Tim?"

Tim stops in his tracks and turns around to Brad. "Yeah?"

"Ray, he..." Brad actually hesitates, as if he's unsure what he wants to say. No, more like he's unsure _if_ he should say what he's thinking about. Brad's lips press into a thin line, then he seems to come to the decision to go ahead. "He's a quite talkative drunk - obviously - but he's also... well, _very_ frank when he's wasted. Which I guess is one of the reasons why he usually makes sure that he doesn't get into the state he's in right now."

Tim just raises an eyebrow when Brad stops talking. He doubts Ray Person can get any more talkative and frank than what Tim has experienced during their last deployment. The Ripped Fuel certainly helped those tendencies of his along.

"Whatever he says to you tonight - and I'm sure he'll talk _a lot_ \- keep it to yourself, would you?" Brad gives him an intense look, worry paired with a silent request. This is not an order, Tim realises, this is a genuine _request_ from one friend watching out for another.

Tim can respect that. "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?"

Brad smirks. "Yeah, like that."

"Don't worry, Brad. You'd be surprised how some people react to morphine. I've heard things no soul was ever supposed to hear, and I've never repeated a single word of them." Tim reassures him firmly. "I doubt that Ray can shock me into breaking that rule now."

Tim can tell that Brad actually relaxes at his words, and that tells Tim that he's genuinely worried about what Ray might say throughout the remainder of the night. In a twisted way it makes Tim curious. There are only very few things that get Brad genuinely worried, and so far Ray's dirty mouth never seemed to be one of them.

Brad changes the topic by explaining to Tim where exactly Ray's apartment is, then he walks up to the bench and stops in front of Ray. "Come on, Ray, up you go."

Ray looks up at Brad with an expression of confusion on his face and something that might be a pout. "Why? I'm good here."

"It's time to call it a night. All sleeping places in my house are firmly occupied and Doc said you need to sleep in a bed with your injured ankle, so he'll escort you home." Brad explains with more patience than Tim expected. It reminds him that Brad has known Ray for a long time and obviously has seen him in this state of intoxication before and knows what to expect from Ray and how to deal with it. 

"But I don't want to call it a night. I'm having a very interesting and informative conversation with my homies here." Ray replies, and now he's definitely pouting. For some reason Tim notices that Ray's eyes are very big and have a nice warm brown colour, and he wonders why he never noticed that before. Ray's also still remarkably eloquent for a guy who drank as much as he did. 

"You want to stay here and ruin your ankle? Maybe have to get a cast and hobble around on crutches for weeks instead of having to take it easy for just a day or two?" Brad is definitely greatly exaggerating the possible consequences here, but Tim deems it wise not to correct him.

Ray's pout deepens. "No."

"Then give me your hands and get off the bench and be grateful that Doc is willing to help your injured ass out, here." Brad holds out both hands and like a little kid Ray reaches out and takes them and Brad effortlessly pulls him to his feet. Brad is clearly not doing this for the first time, Tim thinks to himself. Ray obviously managed to forget his ankle in the last thirty seconds because he comes to stand on both feet and immediately yelps in pain and cocks his leg. 

"See my point now?" Brad asks drily with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, yeah." Ray mutters back with his face still contorted in pain and he's holding with one hand onto Brad's arm while he's trying to balance on his good leg, which is no mean feat for a guy with his blood alcohol level. 

"Now be good, listen to what the Doc says and sleep it off like the law-abiding little civilian you are now." Brad throws Tim a quick look and Tim steps in to take his place by Ray's side, supporting Ray's not quite so steady footing. "Come by to get your paddle when you can stand on both of your legs again. I'll keep it safe until then."

"You're too kind, Sergeant Colbert." Ray's voice is dripping with irony.

"I know." Brad says with a straight face before he turns to Tim. "He's all yours, Doc." 

"Now that's what I've always wanted." Tim replies drily and wraps his arm around Ray's waist to help him into the house where Brad is headed right now, too.

"That's all everybody ever wanted." Ray comments with a grin before he turns to Walt and Garza and wiggles his eyebrows in a very over-the-top way. "Bye guys, I have a date with the Doc now."

Garza just snorts. "Yeah, you wish. As if he'd give you the time of the day."

"Ow, you wound me, Gabe." Ray grabs his heart in a most theatrical gesture while Tim's trying to steer him away from the bench and towards the French doors so that they can make their way through the house and out the front door at some point tonight. 

"Face it, Ray, you're a snotty civilian now." Walt grins at him. "You're not up to his standards anymore."

"No, not you too, Walt!" Ray whines loudly. "Now all my brothers have betrayed me! Left me to weather this cruel world alone!"

Walt snorts. "You're an idiot, Ray."

Tim can't agree more. He tries again to steer Ray down the porch, they haven't even made it five steps away from the bench yet. Maybe Tim needs to be a bit more forceful to get him to move. Some patients require boxing gloves instead of kid gloves.

"See you, guys." Tim says in the direction of Walt and Garza and then just keeps moving towards the house. Ray follows him more out of necessity than because he wants to, he has obviously still enough working brain cells to understand that his human crutch will leave him behind if he doesn't move a long, which means he'll either end up on his ass, his face or - even worse - his injured ankle. That way Tim finally manages to get Ray inside and that's when he pulls Ray's arm around his neck so that he can use it to pull him up in order to manoeuvre him over the many bodies and limbs in their way. 

Brad is waiting by the front door that he has kindly opened already and Tim gives him a nod that is a thank you and a goodbye in equal parts. Brad returns it and ignores Ray's attempts to involve him in a conversation by closing the front door in his face, which makes Ray frown at the door. "Now that was just rude."

"No, that was necessary." Tim corrects drily.

Now Ray turns his face towards Tim and aims his pout at him. "You're mean, Doc."

Tim just cocks an eyebrow, entirely unimpressed. "And you're drunk, Person."

"I know." Ray grins as if that was a compliment. "But you're drunk, too."

"Not nearly as much as you are. Not even anywhere close." Tim retorts pointedly while they're approaching the two steps down the porch to the path. "In fact, I'm no more than a little buzzed, which is how I ended up with the thankless task of escorting the man of the hour home so that he doesn't break his neck on his first evening as a fucking civilian after his foot already got busted."

"That wasn't my fault!" Ray defends himself immediately and stops moving as if he needs to gather his concentration to make his argument for how he's _so_ not to blame for his ankle. 

"I know it wasn't." Tim rolls his eyes and preempts any longer discussion because for once Ray is actually innocent. "I was there, remember?"

"Vaguely." Ray narrows his eyes and scrutinises Tim with the intensity of a stern headteacher, which is more amusing than anything given that he has to look up to Tim and Tim is holding onto his waist to keep him from falling on his ass because he's swaying so unsteadily on his single working leg. "Why you? Because you're the medical professional?"

"Wow, even injured and drunk your mind is still so sharp it's dangerous." Tim comments with as much of a straight face as he can manage, but the mockery is plain in his voice. "Which means yes. And because with Mike's help Brad will take care of the idiots passed out in his house and garden - and apart from Brad and Mike I'm the only one who can still walk without issues."

"Awesome." Ray is suddenly back to grinning, and that has Tim wary.

"Why is that awesome?"

Ray wiggles his eyebrows again. "Because that means you can carry me."

"Yeah, don't I know it." Tim comments in a resigned voice and rolls his eyes yet again.

Ray gapes at him. "You're _actually_ going to carry me? No shit?"

"You want to walk on that ankle? Be my guest." Tim shrugs and then cocks an eyebrow. "But I'm not carrying you to the ER once you realise you screwed your ankle up for good with that idiotic action."

Ray just grins up at him. "Cool, I get to ride a corpsman!" 

For a second Tim is tempted to let him fall on his face after all, Hippocratic oath be damned. "Do me a favour and _never_ repeat that." 

"But it's true!" Ray is still grinning, obviously immensely enjoying himself.

"Shut up, Ray, and get up on my back so that we can get going." Tim grumbles and turns around so that he's standing at the bottom of the steps while Ray is still up on the porch because that makes it easier for him to climb on Tim's back. At least Ray's following his orders, probably because he doesn't want to miss out on the opportunity to 'ride a corpsman' more than because Tim told him to. It's not a very graceful affair, Tim can tell even without being able to see what they're looking like right now. He feels Ray's hands gripping on his shoulders to pull himself up and at the same time he's trying to wrap his injured leg around Tim's waist while the other is still resting on the porch, and yeah, that's not how this is going to work.

"Ray, don't wrap your legs around me, just remain standing where you are and bend them at the knee so that I can get a grip under your thighs." Tim instructs him with more patience than he currently feels.

"Okay." Ray sounds like climbing on Tim's back is taking up so much of his concentration that he's distracted from talking, and that is a clear sign for how drunk he actually is. Just because it doesn't show in his speech - he's neither slurring his words nor is he talking any slower or any less eloquently than usual - doesn't mean that he's not wasted, Tim establishes. Everybody reacts differently to alcohol, and _of course_ Ray Person would be his very own brand of drunk. Why is Tim even surprised?

Tim reaches back to take hold of Ray's legs and once he has a firm grip he hoists Ray up with a bit of momentum. Ray instinctively crosses his arms in front of Tim's shoulders, and the first thing Tim notices is that Ray is lighter than Tim expected. He's nothing but bones and muscles, that much Tim can tell from every point of contact of their bodies. He knows that Ray is the naturally lean and skinny type, but he really needs to gain a little weight, especially after the strains of their recent deployment. Maybe Tim should make him a decent, healthy breakfast in the morning. Well, that probably depends on what kind of food Ray has in the apartment.

"You good back there?" Tim turns his head enough so that he can see Ray out of the corner of his eye.

"Very. You're one hell of a comfortable ride." Ray replies with a huge grin that Tim can only see because Ray stretches forwards so far that his face is in Tim's field of vision. 

"Don't get used to it. This is a one-off." Tim hitches Ray a bit higher on his back and starts walking down the street in the direction Brad told him to go. "Now hold on. And you tell me before you lose balance and fall off, you hear me?"

"Yep." Ray purposefully pops the 'P'.

"I'm not kidding. You fall off because you didn't warn me, I _will_ leave you on the sidewalk. Scratches, bruises and all."

"You wouldn't. You're our Doc." Ray replies with such genuine trust and conviction in his voice that it almost - _almost_ \- makes Tim smile. 

Just to uphold his reputation Tim grumbles, "Right now I'm a buzzed guy carrying an injured, tanked idiot home, so don't be so sure."

"Okay, Doc." Ray singsongs back, clearly not believing him. Tim feels Ray's reply as an exhale of hot air against his skin and he really _really_ wishes that Ray would stay a little further away from his neck. It's fucking distracting.

"Since I'm carrying you to your fucking apartment, at least use my name. We're not on duty." 

"What, Bryan?"

Tim rolls his eyes, even if Ray can't see it from his perch on Tim's back. "No, you idiot. I actually have a first name. That ever cross you mind?"

"Oh _yeah_ , it sure did." Ray replies in a voice that is oddly breathy. He's quiet for a moment, then he clears his throat. "So, does that mean I have permission to call you 'Tim'? You won't, like... stitch my mouth shut or cut my vocal cords out of my throat in some freaky medical midnight attack or something like that?"

Tim snorts and he can't fight off the grin that's coming to his lips. Nice to see that his reputation is still intact. "I think I'll manage to restrain myself and leave you with your vocal cords where they belong and your mouth unstitched."

"Ooookay." Ray sounds like he's evaluating the truth content in what Tim just said. "I trust you not to go back on your word, _Tim_."

His name sounds almost sinful the way Ray says it, and it's nearly as distracting as his warm breath on Tim's neck. Tim pushes those rather unsettling thoughts aside to formulate a reply. "On my honour as a corpsman. You're safe from unwanted medical revenge procedures even if you call me 'Tim'."

"Hmmm, I like the sound of that, _Tim_." Ray actually turns his head towards Tim's when he says his name which makes his words touch the side of Tim's neck in a breath of warm air again, and it's _still_ fucking distracting. He's also using the same warm, dark and rough intonation as before that for some unfathomable reason makes Tim want to shiver, but he forces the reaction down and frowns. Yeah, Ray's certainly blitzed good, or he'd never dare to do that. It's no explanation why Tim's not putting him in his place, though. Because let's face it, Tim's not nearly buzzed enough to use that as an excuse, and he knows it. Well, he's just human, so he'll cut himself some slack tonight. Ray most likely won't remember most of this tomorrow anyway, and then Tim can get his revenge by making him uneasy by hinting at stuff he doesn't remember and-

"I can't see your face right now," Ray interrupts his musings with his voice way too close to Tim's ear, "but you're doing the confused-and-puzzled-but-secretly-amused frown, aren't you?"

"The _what_?" Tim asks bewildered and now he's frowning for sure.

"The confused-and-puzzled-but-secretly-amused frown. You always do that when you find something we do odd and maybe a bit stupid but it also amuses you." Ray explains in the most casual of voices. "It's one of my favourite frowns of yours, not just because you do it so rarely, but also because it makes you look cute."

Tim actually needs a moment to deal with that, and even then it doesn't make any sense. There are in fact _several_ parts of that comment that don't make sense. First that Ray has a label for his frown, second that he has a definition for it and knows when Tim makes what expression, third that he can tell that Tim is amused even when he's frowning, and fourth, why the fuck does he have a favourite frown of Tim's at all? Oh, and not to forget that Ray just called him _cute_!

"What the fuck does _that_ mean?" Tim finally manages to voice at least the gist of his bewilderment.

"Well, Tim, you have a myriad of frowns, and I think most people don't get how diverse they are and how they communicate vastly different things." Ray continues with his explanation in the same easy tone of voice as before, as if he's in no way aware that this conversation it not only weird, it's bordering on inappropriate.

"Is that so?" Tim remarks drily and wonders how many shitfaced guys can still use words like 'myriad' - and use it correctly. He probably shouldn't be surprised that Ray's among them given what he managed to come up with while high on sleep deprivation and excessive amounts of Ripped Fuel paired with alternating baths of intense adrenaline rushes and excessive boredom.

"Oh yes, most certainly." Ray confirms almost eagerly from his perch on Tim's back. "I've spent months analysing and categorising your frowns and learning them by heart."

"You _what?_ " Tim blurts, and he's not proud to admit that his voice may have risen an octave in surprise. At least Ray's the only one who heard it considering that the street is deserted, and he doesn't seem to have paid it any attention. By now Tim is beginning to wonder if he somehow ended up in the twilight zone because this is seriously getting too weird to be real.

"Well, you have so many frowns, Tim, it's not done in a day." Ray sounds defensive, and it's not for the reason Tim would have thought is the _reasonable choice_ why to be defensive - not because Ray analysed and categorised Tim's frowns _at all_ , no, that he seems to find perfectly normal. He's defensive because it took him months. Something is off with Ray's logical reasoning.

"Okay." It's the only thing Tim can come up with in reply, because he frankly just doesn't know what to say. So it's not very eloquent, sue him. He's buzzed. Yeah, that must be the reason for everything that's happening right now, he assures himself and just keeps walking with his cargo securely sitting on his back.

"So, at first I noticed that you seem to always frown, like it's your version of the resting bitch face, but then I saw you look at me when you treated my burnt face after the attack by Rudy's killer stove, and I realised that it was not the same frown as the one I was used to. It was less pissed and more concerned, but still kind of annoyed by the stupidity of it all. Anyway, it was different, so I got curious and I started to watch you." Ray chatters happily into Tim's ear, and then he goes on to explain the different types of frowns he noticed on Tim's face and he names an exemplary situation for each of them: The outraged-pissed-off frown like when they had to unsurrender the Iraqi fugitives that came to them seeking help and protection, the helpless-furious frown like he wore after the shepherd boys, the disapproving-annoyed-teacher frown like when Trombley didn't close his flak vest or didn't wear his tourniquet around his neck, the stern frown like when he was chiding one of the men but not to shoot them down but to teach them something important, the concentrated-pensive-oddly-content frown like when he was cleaning his M-16, the concerned frown like when Pappy was shot or whenever he treated sick kids, the fond-amused frown like when he watched Brad run through the field in his legendary imitation of a strangely coloured air plane, the mocking frown like when he shot the shit with the guys, the dangerous-this-is-your-last-warning frown like he gave the men in Baghdad who stole the candy from the sick kids waiting in line at their makeshift aid station, the tortured-resigned frown in the face of all the suffering he couldn't ease, the disbelieving-disillusioned-losing-faith frown that grew with every screwed up decision from command. Ray still keeps going and Tim can't do anything but listen to him in a mixture of dumbstruck, awed, strangely flattered and vaguely horrified. How the heck did Ray observe all that? He must have had Tim under close observation all throughout their deployment, so _how the fuck_ is it possible that Tim never noticed? Either Ray is a way better Recon Marine than Tim ever realised, or Tim is slacking. Right now he really doesn't know which option it correct.

"Also, Tim, do you know that your Kevlar makes you look like a puppy?" Ray asks curiously, still completely unaware of the inappropriate and increasingly surreal nature of this mostly one-sided conversation. His question certainly has Tim's attention, though, because he's sure none of his Marines _ever_ dared to call him a puppy, especially not to his face. 

"I sure didn't." Tim tries to make his voice sound threatening, but he's not sure it's working.

"Yeah, I don't know why exactly that happens - and I've given it some thought - but it's like the proportions of head to body are off in the way they are in a puppy, and damn, that is just so freaking adorable." Ray explains his thesis with the same unconcerned ease that he maintained throughout most of this conversation, which tells Tim that his attempt to be threatening certainly failed to impress.

Tim on the other hand has to clear his throat before he can speak because he's still working on believing what he's hearing. "Ray, did you just call me an adorable puppy?"

"Yep, I totally did." Ray confirms and he sounds distinctly smug with a mischievous note in his voice that makes Tim wary. Before he can ponder on that thought any further, Ray turns towards him and rubs his face into the hair at the side of Tim's head and coos in a doggy-voice, "You're my cute little puppy Timmy!"

Now, _how the fuck_ do you react to _that_? Tim is stumped, and the only thing he can do is to just continue walking and to try to resist the urge to drop Ray on the ground ass first. Never in his entire life has Tim experienced that kind of bold, insolent, touchy-feely behaviour towards him from anybody, never mind one of his Recon Marines, and if he didn't know how hammered Ray is - if he hadn't _personally seen_ the amount of alcohol he ingested - Tim would very harshly put him in his place on principle. Not because he's uncomfortable with attention from a guy - that would be very hypocritical of him given that he's absolutely comfortable with being bisexual and the only reason he's not open about it is that nasty policy of DADT - but because he doesn't accept such disrespectful attitudes towards him and, quite frankly, he's not close enough with any of the men to allow such familiarities. But fact is that he _does_ know how much Ray is under the influence right now, and for some inexplicable reason Tim finds himself not opposed to Ray's touch, which leaves him at a total loss about how to react.

Ray doesn't even seem to give his actions any further thought, he just continues talking like nothing happened, with his cheek still resting against the side of Tim's head as if he just forgot to sit up straight again after his strange cuddle attack. For a moment Tim envies him the straightforward, unconcerned simplicity of the thought process of his drunken mind. 

"Oh, and before I forget it, the way you stuck it to command was legendary, Tim. The little things and the big ones. How you kept wearing the beanie at Matilda even after Godfather had issues the ban during daytime hours, oh, and of course that moustache! God, how I love that moustache of yours... It was like a very visible, non-verbal fuck-you to command, and Sixta _knew_ he couldn't do shit about it, which was a never-ending source of delight for me and many of the other guys. I also loved it when you didn't get up or stand at attention for men of higher rank that you - and us, to be fair - thought were morons, like Casey Kasem and Encino Man. And the way you talked to them, with this hint of disrespect that was impossible to miss but yet so impalpable that they couldn't nail you for it. Absolutely fucking brilliant." 

Tim is stunned by Ray's concise recital of his little acts of rebellion. Fuck, Ray is _really_ observant. And he must have paid a lot of attention to Tim, personally as well as via the grapevine, because he's mentioning events that he wasn't present for. How again is it possible that Tim never noticed Ray's attention to him? He's a fucking SARC, he's _trained_ to be aware of shit like that! He might have an existential crises here.

"Oh, oh, and I especially liked that you told Encino Man to his face that he's incompetent!" Ray taps his hand against Tim's shoulder repeatedly in his excitement. "That was fucking badass, Tim, and I'm so so sad that I wasn't there to witness it."

"Well, he did kind of provoke it. I gave him enough outs, but he was too dumb to take them." Tim says with no hint of regret in his voice. Admittedly, it was very satisfying to tell that moron the truth and know that he couldn't be NJP'd for it because Encino Man had _asked_ Tim for it in front of several witnesses.

"I'm glad he was that dumb, because really, Tim, it had to be said out loud and you were the perfect man for the job." Ray's satisfied grin is audible in his voice and Tim also feels it where Ray's cheek is still pressed into Tim's hair. Ray is using his first name a lot, Tim noticed, as if he enjoys saying it, and Tim is honest enough with himself to admit that he likes hearing it from Ray. Before this evening the thought never even crossed his mind, and it feels strange but not unwelcome. He never had that much to do with Ray - not that he didn't _hear_ him a lot regardless - and he certainly never had a conversation this long with him, but Tim is surprised that despite the general feeling of surreality he's actually enjoying the time with Ray.

Tim is distracted from his musings when he becomes aware of something brushing along the side of his neck, causing goose bumps to spread over his skin. He notices that Ray has sagged down a little on Tim's back and that his arms have closed a little tighter around Tim's shoulders with the hand of the bottom arm now resting flat over Tim's collarbone, the thumb touching the bare skin beyond the collar of Tim's t-shirt. He belatedly realises that it's the tip of Ray's nose that's passing over his neck, accompanied by the gentle touch of his warm breath that follows on every deep inhale. What the...

"Are you... For fuck's sake, Ray, are you _smelling my neck_?"

"Hmmm, yeah." Tim can hear the content smile in Ray's voice. "You smell so fucking good."

Tim is stunned into silence for a second, because Ray can't have said what Tim just thought he heard. "You want to repeat that?"

"Did a little bit of beer make you hard of hearing?" Ray asks with his grin audible in his voice, but he doesn't hesitate to pass his nose over Tim's neck again and then he takes a deep breath. Tim can feel his ribcage expand where it's pressed against his back. "You smell _so fucking good_ , Tim."

Okay, maybe he _did_ hear what he thought he heard Ray say. Ray must be way more wasted than Tim thought. And fuck, now he's brushing his nose not just against Tim's neck, but also behind his ear, and that's even more fucking distracting than his warm breath on Tim's skin. "When you're drunk you're like a highly affectionate kitten on an extremely potent truth serum, you know that?"

"Are you calling me a kitty, Tim?" Ray chuckles and Tim wonders if he's imagining that warm, teasing intonation Ray's using when he's saying Tim's name.

"Right now? Yeah." Tim retorts with a huff and forces himself to concentrate on walking rather than on Ray's nose behind his ear. "You're practically _snuggling me_ , Ray!"

"Wow, we've not even made out yet and you already have cutesy nicknames for me. Very forward of you, my handsome sailor." Ray mocks him without holding back his amusement. "You may call me Ninja Kitty."

Tim absolutely can't hold back the snort of laughter at his words. "Ninja Kitty? For real?"

"Yeah, sounds better than Cuddle Ninja. Kitties are cuter. And I'm cute." Ray proclaims confidently and Tim is just relieved that his nose is not doing things to his neck anymore because that makes it easier to concentrate.

"Unbelievable is what you are." Tim grins. "And unreal."

"Yeah, unbelievably cute, unreal handsome." Ray says with a smug tone to his voice. "Have you ever seen my kitty eyes? They're irresistible."

Tim snorts. "Your kitty eyes?"

"Yeah, they even get to the Iceman." Now Ray sounds _really_ smug.

"Whatever you say, Ray." Tim doesn't bother to hide his disbelief.

"For real! Why do you think Brad can't refuse me anything? I have killer kitty eyes! Big and brown and innocent."

Tim can only snort at that. "You're _anything but_ innocent, Ray, and I assure you that you _never_ look innocent no matter how hard you try."

"You should call me 'Josh'." Ray replies in a complete non-sequitur. 

Tim's reaction consists of a very eloquent "Uh?". His brain may not be firing on all cylinders, but right now he's sure that it's _Ray_ who's not making sense.

"Josh." Ray repeats as if it's the actual name that Tim is having problems understanding instead of his weird jumps in topics. "It's my first name."

"Ah, yes, I know. It's in your file." Tim replies not much more eloquently than before. He's still confused.

"Say it."

"Why?"

"Because I want to hear you say it."

"You're weird."

"Come on." Ray's voice is an interesting mixture of a whine and a challenge.

"No." Tim says mostly just to annoy Ray.

"Why not?"

"Because."

"That is very childish of you, HMS Bryan."

Tim just shrugs, which is a difficult feat when you're carrying a full-grown man on your back. "So what?"

"Okay, so I'll make you say it."

"Yeah, good luck with that."

"Is that a challenge?" Ray's voice is suspiciously eager.

Tim decides to go for another shrug. "Take it however you want, _Ray_."

"Oh, I _like_ that challenge." Ray's voice is definitely mischievous in a way that has Tim worried, especially considering that he has no hand free to defend himself because he's holding onto Ray's legs in order to carry him.

"No matter what you do, you won't succee-" That's as far as Tim gets before he feels Ray's mouth on the side of his neck, just below his right ear, followed by a sharp nip of his teeth and then a swab of his tongue passing over the spot he just bit. Tim arches his head to the side in an absolutely involuntarily, instinctive reaction that grants Ray more access, and he _just so_ manages to stifle the louder part of his groan while his knees definitely buckle for a second and there's fire shooting through his entire body, going straight to his dick. He's incredibly proud of himself that he manages to keep walking, because his neck is his biggest weak spot and always has been, one of his most closely guarded secrets. It sure seems Ray cottoned on to how sensitive Tim's neck is, though, and here Tim was thinking he'd hidden it so well.

" _Fuck_ , Ray!" Tim gasps because holy shit, he didn't expect _that_. "What the fuck are you-"

"It's Josh." Ray interrupts him in a low voice and then his mouth closes over the same spot on Tim's neck again, and this time Tim neither manages to keep walking nor to suppress his groan. He'd be embarrassed by how he's tilting his head to the side so that Ray can better reach his neck and how quick his breathing has become if he had enough functioning brain cells left to actually think about it. He doesn't, though, they've dissolved in the pleasure caused by Ray caressing the side of Tim's neck with his fucking hot tongue interspersed with little nips. Tim's eyes close against his will, because _oh god, fuck, yes..._

Now Tim is proud for simply remaining on his feet instead of sinking to the ground right here on the sidewalk because his knees give out. Ray sure knows what he's doing with that damn tongue of his, and now his hands have joined the party, too. One is still resting on his collarbone, the thumb now caressing Tim's neck, the other has wandered down enough that Ray's fingertips are brushing over Tim's nipple in a way that can only be described as purposeful. Tim trembles under the sensation and another low moan escapes him before he can stifle it, and he can feel Ray begin to grow hard where his groin is pressed to Tim's lower back. Tim's hold on Ray's legs has tightened considerably, his fingers are digging into his thighs in an instinctive reaction to the intense stimulus.

" _Josh_..." Tim groans somewhere deep in his throat, and not because he wants to give in to Ray's demand but because it _feels right_. Yeah, his brain is definitely fried. Deep fried.

"Oh looky, I _did_ succeed." Ray's rough voice sounds decidedly smug when he lets go of Tim's neck. Tim catches himself wishing Ray's mouth and his gorgeous tongue were back on his skin, and that's when he begins to realise that he's thoroughly fucked.

"And holy shit, it's _so sexy_ when you say my name in that gorgeous rough voice of yours." Ray continues in a lower tone and Tim feels a shiver go through Ray's body. "Damn, it's even better than I imagined."

Tim knows he really shouldn't ask for details, Ray is drunk and tomorrow he'll probably be horrified by all the things he told Tim - well, and did to Tim. For three seconds he manages, then Tim caves, and he blames it on the residue sensation overload caused by Ray's attack on his neck. "You imagined me calling you 'Josh'?"

"Hundreds of times. Thousands." Ray admits instantly and with no shame at all. "You just have the most captivating and sexy voice I've ever heard. It has so many nuances, and I particularly love it when it gets that rough, rumbling, gravelly tone like it has now because it feels like a caress all over my skin."

Tim exhales in a burst. "Fuck, Ray, you can't say stuff like that. We're in fucking Oceanside!"

"It's Josh." Ray corrects him almost gently and his warm breath on Tim's neck makes Tim shiver in anticipation. Fuck, Tim thinks with half a braincell, he's already reacting to the sensation of Ray's breath on his neck like a trained dog. "And I can say that. I'm out of the service. I got my brains back."

"Yeah, _Josh_ , but _I_ am still active. And I'd like to keep it that way." Tim shoots back, and he can't help noticing the effect it has on Ray when he uses his first name. It's a little shiver and then Ray presses closer to him, arms, legs, chest, groin. Interesting. Maybe Tim is not the only trained dog around here.

"We're not in uniform, Tim. Or, well, _you_ are not in uniform. _I_ don't have one anymore." Ray chuckles. "Not to forget that I just kissed-"

"-mauled-" Tim chimes in.

"- _nibbled_ your neck in the middle of the street, so I doubt that what I _say_ is going to be the biggest problem. Nobody's around anyway. It's fucking zero dark thirty in a residential area in Oceanside. Not a single window is lit."

Well, at least Ray's situational awareness is still somewhat intact. Tim also knows that there are no lights behind any windows in sight, but that doesn't mean that nobody's watching. But he also stopped in the middle of the distance between two street lamps, the darkest part of the sidewalk, and he knows their faces are impossible to recognise under these conditions. And Ray's basically right, they're in a quiet residential area of the city in the wee hours of the morning in civilian clothes, so the likelihood of this coming back to bite Tim in the ass are pretty much non-existent. Still, they'd better get going, so Tim forces himself to start moving again. According to the map in his mind they're don't have that much more distance to cover before they get to Ray's building. Tim tightens his grip on Ray's legs in order to hoist him up higher on his back again from where he sagged down while he was... what did he call it again? Ah yes, 'nibbling' on Tim's neck. 

Ray seems to take the action as an encouragement to continue with his analysis of Tim's person. "Your hands are fascinating, do you know that?"

"My hands." Tim just repeats deadpan, and he's not sure if he wants to know where this is going considering that a discussion of names ended with them almost making out on the sidewalk. Fuck, he never expected that carrying Ray home would become so insightful, never mind so _eventful_.

"Yeah." Ray confirms easily, but there's still a slightly rough edge to his voice and Tim is aware that he's still half-hard where his groin inevitably presses into Tim's back. It's oddly reassuring to know that Tim's not the only one affected by this... this _thing_. "I've watched your hands a lot. They're like the perfect manifestation of your character."

Tim just snorts before he says drily, "You'll have to elaborate on that. Now I'm _really_ curious."

"They're contradictory and yet perfectly balanced. On one side they're very strong, calloused from physical training and from holding a weapon and they can kill effortlessly and very professionally. I've seen that, fuck, I've actively _watched_ your hands, and when you hold your M-16, it's so incredibly hot and it's really sexy and-" Ray interrupts himself and clears his throat before he continues. "But I digress. On the other side your hands can also be so very gentle and caring and soothing, I've seen that too, every time you treated people, especially children. Your hands give relief and comfort and a feeling of safety to those in your care, it's like you have a gift for it. Somebody who doesn't know both sides of you, they'd never think that those same gentle hands have also killed people with intent and skill." 

Tim shivers, but this time it's at Ray's words. He tries to keep his reaction from showing too blatantly, but it's a lost battle considering that Ray is pressed to his entire back. Ray's observations are frighteningly accurate and he put into words what Tim has pointedly avoided thinking about too much. He's glad when Ray spares him from having to say anything by continuing to talk.

"But what I find myself wondering about whenever I think about your hands is what they would feel like on my body." Ray bends his head until his mouth is right next to Tim's ear and every word he says whispers over Tim's skin in a soft caress of warm breath. His voice is low and a little hoarse and its sound alone is enough to give Tim goose bumps. "I want to find out if the pads of your fingertips can leave a trail of goose bumps in their wake when they're wandering over my skin, over my mouth and down my throat, over my chest and to my hips. I want to know if it's a perfect fit when you grab my ass, and I want to know what your hands feel like wrapped around my dick." 

Tim swallows hard, but his mouth is as dry as his throat, and he feels heat in his cheeks from the words Ray is murmuring into his ear. He's slowly getting hard in his cargo shorts, and Ray breathing on his neck when he continues talking is not helping matters in any way. "I've imagined what you could do to me with those finely tuned, perfectly controlled, large hands. You're a master at working with your fingers, you have to be in order to treat people, and I'm sure you know how to measure every ounce of pressure that you want to apply. To have all that proficiency directed at me, to have you work me with that skill, it must be the most amazing experience."

"Fuck, Josh..." Tim merely whispers the words, but even he himself can hear how breathless he sounds, how obvious the arousal is in his words. It takes all his concentration to keep waking. 

"Oh, I'm not done yet." Ray chuckles next to Tim's ear, the noise low and husky. "Seriously, Tim, do you have _any_ idea how fucking gorgeous your mouth is? Your lips are like plump pillows that I really _really_ want to delve into. I know how everybody was always talking about Fick's lips, but I think yours are _so much better_. You don't have the faintest idea how many times I wanted to run my thumb over your bottom lip to see if it's really as full and soft as it looks. Or how many times I imagined dragging you into the nearest supply tent to learn what your lips feel like against mine. I want to find out what you taste like and what your tongue feels like in my mouth."

Tim finds himself imagining the things Ray is describing, how Ray would grab Tim and manoeuvre him into a supply tent, how he'd take hold of Tim's jaw to pull him down, how he'd claim Tim's lips and plunge his tongue deep into his mouth. How Ray would feel pressed against Tim from head to toe, all wiry strength and desperate desire. How afterwards he'd run the pad of his thumb over Tim's bottom lip where it's wet from their kiss, and Tim would flicker the tip of his tongue over Ray's finger, and he'd see Ray's eyes grow dark with arousal...

It's Ray's clearly amused chuckle that pulls Tim out of his very pleasant little fantasy. "And that moustache... I know I mentioned it before, but damn, Tim, you really rock it. I usually don't like moustaches, they make guys look so sleazy and creepy, like they'd fondle you in an dark alley or sell you broken cars for new or trick you into signing away your body for a ritual sacrifice without you even noticing." 

Tim smirks while he's wondering where the fuck Ray gets his ideas from. Ray huffs before he takes up talking again. "I mean, just look at what most guys in the company looked like during the moustache growing contest. It was shudder-worthy in pretty much all instances. Just thinking about Casey Kasem with that shapeless thin worm on his upper lip still given me the creeps." 

Tim chuckles at Ray's invention of words like shudder-worthy just to make his point. Surprisingly enough it works, and his description of Casey Kasem's moustache is indeed very apt.

"But you..." Ray exhales with a little appreciative whistle. "Fuck, Tim, you look _so hot_ with that moustache. I really don't know what it is that makes it look so freaking good on you, but it's not sleazy or creepy at all. It's sexy as hell, and I really want to know what it would feel like when you kiss me, if it would scratch over my skin when you kiss your way down my neck, if it would tickle on my lips, behind my ear, on my belly. Damn, I bet it's the most delicious sensation ever."

Tim can't contain the shiver of arousal that runs through his entire body at those words in Ray's low, hypnotising, slightly raspy voice. He tightens his grip on Ray's thighs instinctively and pulls him closer, although that's not really possible. His mouth still feels dry and he swallows hard, but he finds he's completely unable to speak. 

Never before did Tim realise how much Ray actually filters what he's saying, even when it appears to everybody around him that he's just letting his mouth run away with him. Tim had thought that too considering the stuff Ray sprouted during OIF when he was on top of everything high on Ripped Fuel. But now Tim can see that Ray clearly _didn't_ let his mouth run away with him. Because this? _This_ is Ray Person without _any_ filter between his brain and mouth. Considering the brain he has, that seems quite dangerous. 

Suddenly Tim is reminded of the heads-up Brad gave him and of his request to keep whatever Ray says confidential, and he can't help wondering if Brad knew about Ray's feelings for Tim - because this is clearly more than Ray just having the hots for him. Tim wonders if Brad knew and dreaded that Ray would spill his guts and therefore made Tim _promise_ that he would keep things between him and Ray.

Tim feels Ray shift to the right on his back and sees out of the corner of his eye how Ray rests his head on his arm where it's slung over Tim's shoulder, and his face is turned towards Tim's neck. Every exhale is a warm, wet puff of breath against the side of Tim's neck, making goose bumps appear on Tim's skin. He becomes aware that he honestly doesn't want that feeling to stop. 

"I want to know what it feels like to be loved by you." Ray suddenly murmurs, and to Tim it feels like the rug was just pulled out from under his feet. Ray is blissfully oblivious and just chuckles after a moment, but he sounds sleepy. "In every sense of the word. You know, body and soul. Hmmmm, I'm sure the body part would be the blowing-my-mind-to-smithereens kind of fantastic."

After that Ray is remarkably quiet for at least a minute while Tim keeps walking, and Tim can feel that he's even more relaxed than he was before. "Josh?" 

There's no answer, at least not a verbal one. Instead Tim hears a content little sigh right before he feels Ray's nose bury against his neck. The touch makes new goose bumps spread down Tim's neck, shoulders and arms.

"Josh, are you asleep?" All right, so Tim's aware that that's a pretty nonsensical question, but he has to make sure. Ray's continued silence as well as his relaxed body are answer enough, and Tim can't hold back the gentle chuckle and the fond smile. He continues walking down the street in the quiet of the night that feels almost strange when it's not interrupted by Ray's voice. Now that he has a moment to think about all the things Ray said to him, all Tim _can_ think about is that he never knew that Ray wants him so much, that he pays so much attention to Tim in almost every detail of the life they shared, that he understands and reads Tim so easily and so freaking well. But that's not all - Ray doesn't just _want_ him in a carnal way, no, Ray's _in love_ with him. Wow. Now that's not the kind of insight he expected to gain when Brad warned him about Ray being a very frank talkative drunk.

When Tim gets to the crossing that precedes Ray's building, a yellow cab drives past them and turns the corner at the end of the block. Only then does it suddenly occur to Tim that they could have called a cab to get Ray home, but for whatever reason that never crossed his, Brad's or Mike's mind. Maybe they were a little more drunk than Tim had thought after all. 

Tim stops in front of the building with the correct address and quickly checks the door bell nameplate to make sure he's in the right spot, which he finds confirmed when he sees Ray's name. Well, now he only has to get Ray up into his apartment.

"Wake up, Josh." Tim shrugs his shoulders enough to jolt Ray a little.

"Uh-uh." Ray grumbles back without bothering to move or to even just open his eyes.

"You have to wake up, Josh." Tim repeats and jolts Ray again. "We're at your apartment and I need your keys. You have to get off my back."

"Don't want to." Ray mumbles and tightens his hold on Tim. "You smell good. You're comfy."

Tim chuckles because a sleepy Ray is very adorable. "Thank you for the compliment, Josh, but you'll be much better off lying down in your own bed."

"I'm good here." Ray buries his nose further against Tim's neck as if to make his point.

Tim smirks, then he decides to just force Ray to get moving like he did at Brad's house. "Fair warning, Josh, I'm going to set you down now. Be careful to keep your right leg off the ground or the pain will wake you much faster than you probably want."

Tim begins to bend his knees and that finally gets Ray's attention because he lifts his head off Tim's shoulder and grumbles, "You're mean, Tim."

"I can live with that assessment." Tim replies drily and carefully slides Ray off his back, trying to keep him from putting any weight on his injured ankle."You good?"

"I liked it better where I was before." Ray murmurs back, and he still doesn't sound entirely awake. 

Tim turns around so that he's facing Ray, always making sure that he doesn't let go of him. He's pretty sure that in his sleepy intoxicated state Ray would end up first on his injured ankle and then on his ass on the ground. "Now: Keys, Josh."

"What for?" Ray asks while he's in the process of leaning his head against Tim's shoulder, obviously intent to just sleep standing up out in the street.

Tim snorts. "To open the door, numbnuts. I can pick the lock, but frankly, your keys would be the much easier and faster option."

"Front pocket." Ray replies but makes no attempt to get them.

"You're seriously going to make me dig around in your pockets?"

Ray turns his head up to Tim and smiles widely, and it's pleased and sleepdrunk at the same time. "Hell yeah."

Tim sighs. He can get into a discussion with Ray now, but he knows it'll be long and probably fruitless, and he really wants to get inside. "Left or right pocket?"

Ray's smile becomes even wider, and Tim didn't think that was possible. It's still adorable more than the sultry smirk Ray probably thinks it is when he wiggles his eyebrows. "Why don't you find out, sailor boy."

Tim snorts at the really bad line as well as at the nickname. He will _not_ feel Ray up under the pretence of getting his keys as long as Ray's neither sober nor awake enough to know what he's doing. Tim has searched more pockets than he can count in the execution of his job, he knows how to make it absolutely non-sexual. As soon as Ray is sober enough to be aware, though, Tim has no issues doing a thorough search of _all_ his pockets if he still wants it. And get him naked in the process. And kiss him. Yeah, he really wants to know what it will feel like to kiss Ray after all the things Ray whispered in his ear tonight. 

With three quick pats Tim has found and retrieved Ray's keys and dangles them in front of his face with a raised eyebrow. Ray looks at them with a disappointed pout. "I didn't even feel your hands!"

"That was the whole point." Tim remarks evenly and checks which key works on the front door.

"But I want to feel them!" Ray protests from where he's still leaning against Tim and standing on one leg.

"Tomorrow. When you're sober and still want it." Tim offers when the lock finally accepts the key, then he opens the door and wraps his arm around Ray's waist to help him hobble inside. Tim is very relieved to find that the building has an elevator because carrying Ray up the stairs to the fourth floor is really not something he would have enjoyed. He's beginning to feel the effort it took to carry Ray over here from Brad's house, and right now getting inside Ray's apartment to lie down and sleep sounds really good. 

Tim guides Ray inside the cabin once the elevator has arrived, and he finds it oddly adorable how Ray in his sleepy state immediately leans into Tim again, resting his head on Tim's shoulder with his nose buried against Tim's neck and his eyes closed. His arms have wrapped around Tim in a loose embrace, his bad leg is cocked to keep the weight off it and Ray is relaxing in Tim's arm around his waist, obviously completely trusting him to hold him upright. He's a warm, trusting and comfortable presence against Tim, and it feels right and satisfying in a way Tim hasn't experienced in a long time. 

His thoughts are interrupted when the bell chimes and the doors opens once they've arrived on the fourth floor. It takes a bit of effort to manoeuvre the pretty much asleep Ray from the elevator to the apartment door and keep him from falling down when Tim unlocks the door. By now he's more carrying than guiding Ray, but he manages to get him inside and close the door behind them without making too much of a racket. It's not too difficult to establish which room is Ray's bedroom given that the door is standing wide open and Tim can spot the neatly made bed. It makes him smirk when he bends down to pull the covers back before he settles Ray down on the mattress. He'd have pegged Ray for the unmade-bed type, but it seems that years of military training are hardwired in his brain just as much as is the case for pretty much all of them. 

Ray falls back in his pillow in the boneless relaxation of sleep and Tim takes off Ray's shoes, socks and pants before he lifts his legs up on the bed and under the sheets, always careful not to upset his sprained ankle. Once he made sure Ray is comfortable Tim heads over to the kitchen, checks the fridge and gets a bottle of water, then he steps into the bathroom and finds some advil in a remarkably well maintained medicine cabinet. He takes both to Ray's bedroom and sets them down on the bedside table.

"Shaashhhhh." Ray mumbles something incomprehensible into the pillow, clearly more asleep than a wake. 

"I didn't quite catch that, Josh. It doesn't help that your face is smashed into the pillow."

Ray utters another sounds and his hand makes uncoordinated movements off the bed and vaguely in Tim's direction. Or maybe the trash can by the door, it's hard to say.

"Are you trying to tell me that you're going to puke?" Tim enquires while he's already stepping over to the door to retrieve the bin, just in case. Usually things deteriorate pretty fast if someone's at the puking stage, and Tim really can't be arsed to clean up puke tonight. "You had better hit the bin."

But instead of reaching for the trash can Ray's hand makes a negating gesture and then vaguely waves at Tim, followed by the same unintelligible mumble.

Tim just watches him with a quizzically frown once he has set down the trash can next to the bed - still within easy reach, just as a precaution. "I have no idea what you're trying to tell me, Josh. Either get better at hand gestures or use fucking words."

Ray frowns without opening his eyes and then makes an effort to turn his face enough to be able to speak without the pillow swallowing most of the sounds he makes. Tim watches in fascination how he licks his lips while he seems to try to remember what it was he wanted to say.

"Tim..." Ray makes the same vague wave with his hand again, and Tim can't help smiling at the way his name sounds coming from a sleepdrunk Ray. It's oddly adorable, and before tonight that's not a word he ever thought he'd use to describe Ray Person. 

Tim leans forward and braces on his hands on the mattress. "Yeah, Josh?"

"Stay." Ray murmurs and his hand makes a fist in Tim's t-shirt when it connects with the fabric.

"Yeah, I'm staying. Somebody has to look after your ankle, after all." Tim replies quietly, wondering how much of what he's saying is even registering with Ray given how sleepy he is. "I'll be right outside on your couch. Holler if you need something."

"No." Ray opens his eyes just a sliver to catch Tim's gaze and his fist tightens on Tim's t-shirt. "Stay with me."

Tim involuntarily raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Here?"

"Hmmm." Ray hums affirmatively, his eyes closed again.

Tim watches him with an unsure frown and licks his lips before he clarifies, "In your bed?" 

"Hmmm." Ray hums again and gives a little tug where his hand is still holding on to Tim's t-shirt.

"You sure?"

"Just lie the fuck down and sleep, Tim." Ray mumbles in what seems to be a genuine effort to form words.

"All right, Josh." Tim finally agrees, still a little doubtful. "But if you have a big gay freakout tomorrow morning, I'm going to kick you in the head."

"'kay." Ray utters back, not even bothering to say the entire word.

"Josh, you'll have to let go of my t-shirt." Tim remarks with a chuckle when Ray seems to fall asleep again with his hand still securely closed around Tim's t-shirt. Once Ray loosens his hold Tim sits on the bed and takes off his shoes and his own pants, which takes him a bit longer than it normally would, but he chooses to ignore that. He quickly hits the head before he lies down next to Ray after pushing him over to the other side of the bed so that there's enough space for a second person, always mindful of his ankle. But only a second later Ray scoots over to him as if he's a piece of metal and Tim is a very strong magnet. Before Tim can even consider pushing him back again, Ray has already managed to drape himself halfway over Tim with his face buried against Tim's neck, his arm resting across Tim's chest and his uninjured leg flung over Tim's. 

Ray nuzzles into Tim's neck, and that's when all thoughts of pushing Ray away leave Tim once and for all. It doesn't help him decide what the fuck he's supposed to do with his hands, though. The way Ray's hand is fisted into Tim's t-shirt on his chest suggests that he clearly doesn't have any such issues.

"Night, Tim." Ray mumbles and his words are a warm caress of air against the skin of Tim's neck. Tim can't fight back the shiver that the sensation makes run through his body and he gives up any consideration for propriety and cards his fingers through Ray's short hair where his head is lying right underneath Tim's hand. He feels Ray lean into his touch like the kitten he reminded Tim of throughout this entire thing. Tim just waits for him to start purring.

"Night, my cuddly kitty." Tim chuckles quietly, and he feels Ray huff a gentle little laugh against his neck before he does indeed make a sound that resembles a purr while he snuggles into Tim's body and the hand in his hair. 

Tim's last thought before he drifts off is that it seems he adopted a stray kitten tonight, or maybe it adopted him, he's not quite sure. He just wonders whether he'll get to keep it when the morning comes.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you enjoy that? I sure had tons of fun writing it XD Let me know what you think? Please please please? *makes Ninja-Kitty-eyes at you* (see below XD)
> 
> Oh, ahm, and would you be interested in a **sequel** , like, the morning after? *curious*
> 
> And because it's just too cute: Here is the photographic evidence for Tim's resemblance to a puppy and Ray's Ninja-Kitty-eyes ;D
> 
> [](https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/16335757/138225/138225_original.jpg)  
>   
> 


End file.
